Saving Eurydice
by Phillin
Summary: Reim's the one to go blind: he tries to go about his life as per usual, but of course with Xerxes around-and Isla Yura on the rise-things are never that simple. Written for the PH Big Bang Challenge, with Edo Orenji as illustrator.
1. Chapter 1

Foreword:

First, I'd recommend that you read the Ao3 version of this story, which has Orenji's pictures! (Pardon the spaces: archiveofourown works/3194702/chapters/6945428 )

I hit a block a couple years ago that I never quite recovered from; I haven't written something of this length since the late middle ages, and I have many people to thank for that. Folks like Orenji, Kiki, Buttons, and Lorek are the BEST people to talk to and always cheer me the frick up. LOVE YOU GUYS 3 Also, I must mention: I had a good five+ months to write this story, but I only gave Orenji ( .com) a month to do the illustrations! I'm amazed she didn't strangle me XD and look at how well they turned out! Everyone give her hugs.

Oh, and Orenji and I will alternately post chapters ever Saturday; I'm starting off, and next week I'll post a link to the next chapter on Orenji's account! Hope the newest retrace hasn't killed anyone.

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Reim woke up, and had a killer headache. A sharp pain pinged across his skull: eyes still closed, Reim clenched his fists.

Above his head, lady Sharon grumbled at him and pulled up his blankets. She checked his pulse, and her hand was warm. "Still alive, then?" she mused, and Reim screwed up his face. He couldn't remember what he'd done wrong, but he was sure that Sharon was about to lob him 'cross the head.

"What's wrong?" Reim asked. He opened his eyes and saw mussy shapes. He felt nauseous. "How long have I been out?"

"Guess," Sharon said. Oh, she was most upset. Her voice sounded padded, somehow, like she was under a pile of towels.

Reim rubbed his nose. He was on a very comfy bed. His usual cot was small, and rather stiff. He must have been brought to one of the guest bedrooms. "Can't remember much," Reim began, slowly. "Hardly a lot to go on."

Sharon clapped a chair closer to his bed. Reim tried to keep his eyes open. "You were called out to go to Sablier four days ago," she told him, and she sat down.

"Do I have a concussion?" Reim asked.

Sharon looked at him. "Yes," she said. "We had to wake you every couple of hours. I'd be surprised that you don't remember, but you were delirious, so. Why do you ask?"

"Headache," Reim told her. The pressure on his skull doubled all at once, and he groaned out an amendment: "bad headache. Can't see a thing."

"You can't see?"

"Well," Reim managed, "I can make you out well enough. And blurs of things." He gestured to where he thought lady Sharon was, only to wince at the cuts on his shoulder. "Not sure that's normal for a concussion."

"Yes, well," Sharon said. "You were dead, after all."

There was a clang of china. She'd brought tea, Reim thought. Probably on the bedside table. How like Sharon. No doubt she'd reached out to select a spoon.

When Sharon didn't go on, Reim wound his hand around his covers. "I used March Hare, then."

Sharon sipped at her tea. "Yes," she said.

"Sharon, I'm sorry."

"No," Sharon told him. She brought the tea from her lips, and smacked her cup back onto the side table. "You don't get to apologize like you've gone and done some silly thing, like-like step on someone's foot, or arrive late for tea."

"Sharon-" Reim tried, but Sharon cut him off: "we thought you were dead," she said. "Your eyes were open and your head was all bludgeoned about and you had no pulse. For god's sake, Reim! You could've woken up six feet under and none of us would have been the wiser!"

"Rufus would have said something," Reim protested, but Sharon was on a roll now: "oh, of course," she declared. "Dare I forget master Barma! Damn master Barma, that's what I say."

Sharon only swore when she was thoroughly upset, and Reim tensed. "Rufus ordered me not to tell anyone," he said.

Sharon stared at him. Reim could make out the salmon color of her clothes. She'd pulled her sleeves up over her hands, like Xerxes did when he was nervous. Reim considered what best to say next. Sharon beat him to the punch, however, when she stood and collected her things.

"I'm going to fetch a doctor for your eyes," she told him. She straightened her skirts. "There's water on the bedside table, and tea, but don't go and wriggle about like a codfish. You're supposed to rest."

Reim nodded at her. Sharon kept still for another moment, then paraded out of the room.

She closed the door behind her.

Ten Years Ago

One day, two or so months after Shelly's death, Sharon didn't show up at the library. Usually, she and Reim met at the foot of the stairs to go and study. That day, Reim waited and no one came. Their routine bordered on ritual-esque by that time, so Reim knew to worry before Sharon's grandmother did.

Because he was a diligent person, Reim doubled back to check Sharon's rooms-perhaps she was sick. When her quarters proved empty, Reim went back to the library. Had Sharon come to the library early? No, he found: her chair was empty. Some of her more recent reads slumped piled upon a side table, where she'd left them the day before.

Reim assumed he'd been skipped out on, and sat down to read. The books he chose were rather dense, though, and after a while he abandoned his studies for the pursuit of his playmate. The kitchens were empty. Several officers and servants, up and about for hours already, hadn't seen Sharon.

"Should we be worried?" asked one of the servants. "You know her better than us. She wouldn't have run off, would she?"

Reim shrugged. "She has before," he said. "But I doubt she'd go far. That's not like her."

"Perhaps she's gone upstairs," the servant suggested. "You haven't tried there yet, have you?"

"No."

"Then there you are. Up you get, and I'll search these outer halls. We'll find her soon enough."

Despite their combined efforts, Reim turned up empty-handed. The servant, a bit more productive, returned with more servants-there were a good seven of them now. Reim and company scoured the Rainsworth estate, and Reim watched as their brigade doubled, then tripled of number. The search widened to the whole of the household-mind, there were a good number of Pandora officers on business, and they accounted for some of the larger sums. As the search became dire of nature, Reim shot Xerxes a telegram-the man was off on a business trip. Reim was wont to keep him updated anyway.

Officials combed the town. Reim was asked the same questions over and over again: had Sharon had any plans to leave the manor? Had she seemed out of sorts last night?

"Reim," lady Cheryl addressed him, "of the residents of our estate, you have been at Sharon's side the most often over the past few weeks. I understand that Sharon trusts you as she would an older brother. She'd have left you some kind of clue to her whereabouts, I'm sure."

"I'm sorry, Miss Cheryl," Reim told her. "But I really don't think she's left me anything. I've been through my rooms dozens of times, and I can't find any notes, and we've only ever studied together-we don't talk that much about, um."

"I see," Cheryl said. She grasped his shoulder. "What do you study together, pray tell?"

"Abyssal theory," Reim supplied. "And whatever else'll help us with our contractor exams."

Lady Cheryl's brow furrowed.

"Show me the books that you've read together," she told him, and Reim led her down the hall.

Present Day

Reim woke up a second time, and his head felt less like a bundle of lint and more like a cinderblock. There were covers over his shoulders and a mattress under him, and he knew he was where Sharon had left him. There was also someone at his side-someone that wasn't Sharon-and Reim feared for a moment that Xerxes had come to tease him. He didn't remember much of what had happened before Sablier, but he knew he wanted to keep away from Xerxes for as long possible. Obviously they'd had some kind of dispute, Reim thought, before he'd left.

And then someone pried his left eye open with a finger, and Reim knew that his visitor was a doctor. He was glad, although he didn't much like to have his eyelids dragged up and down by strangers.

"Headache?" the doctor asked. Reim made a grumble, and the doctor nodded at him sagely. "That'll be around for a while," he said. His chins waggled as he talked. "You have a nasty concussion."

"So I've been told," Reim said.

The doctor looked at his head. He rummaged through a small bag. "How are the eyes?" he asked.

Reim squinted up at him. He thought he could make out a pudgy face. "I can't see," Reim told the doctor. He turned his head. "Only colors and blurs."

"That'll be the concussion," the doctor mused. He sounded confident, but Reim was a worrywart by nature, and not one to be consoled. "Should go away with the headache. Try these on."

Here, the doctor handed Reim a pair of glasses. They were new glasses, Reim could tell. His old ones must have been lost. Reim put them on.

The doctor pursed his lips.

"Any better?" he asked.

Reim closed his eyes, and opened them again. He turned his head this way, then that. Then, he peeled his glasses off. "No," he said. He folded the sides down. "Well, a bit, sort of. I mean, I suppose the shapes were more defined."

"Should go away with the headache," the doctor repeated.

Reim was skeptical. "Are you sure?"

"Very sure," said the doctor. "Now; you aren't to leave that bed for at least three days. No books, no papers. Radio's fine." He brought a finger to Reim's face, and had him follow the appendage with his eyes. "Visitors are welcome, but only for short periods, understood?"

"Understood," said Reim.

"Good," said the doctor. He clapped the ides of his bag together and readied himself to leave. "I'm needed down the hall."

"I don't remember much," Reim protested, as he opened the door. "Are the other officers all right? How many people got hurt?"

"Oh, loads," the doctor told him, and he shrugged his bag higher up onto his shoulder. He made to close the door behind him. "But don't worry, no one's dead. No one but you, anyway."

Sharon visited him again later that day, armed this time not with tea and china, but papers, folders, and other office supplies. Good god, Reim thought: she'd brought his whole library.

"Sharon," Reim said, confused. "Are those my assignments?"

"Four days worth," Sharon confirmed.

She sat down, and Reim brought his head back against his bed. "I'd work on them," he said, "but I'm not allowed to read. Doubt I could, anyway."

"These aren't for you," Sharon said. "I plan to be here for a while, and I'll need something to do. Besides; I assumed you could use the help."

"A good assumption."

"Hmm." Sharon settled down against the plush material of her chair. Small as she was, her head barely touched the top cushion. Some things never changed. Reim closed his eyes to ease the ache of his head. "We've had some folks pass their exams," Sharon began. "A couple're ready to make their contracts. Allen, Robert…Marge, too. Proud of her."

"Good."

"Yes." Sharon crossed her legs. "How are your eyes?"

"Bad."

"And what did the doctor say?"

"Should clear up with the headache." Reim flexed his fingers against the covers of his bed. He pulled them up over his front. "You haven't told Xerxes, have you?" he asked.

"About your eyes?" Sharon said. "No. Haven't had the chance to tell him much at all, to be frank. The moment the doctor came, he'd gone off on some work trip."

"'Course he'd done," Reim said. He stretched. "Thank god."

Sharon looked up. "You wouldn't want him to know?"

"Sharon, you know how he gets when he's worried. He'll only try to coddle me, then snap at me when he remembers he doesn't know how."

"Fair enough." Sharon was, after all, the most familiar with Xerxes' coddle-y antics. "He'll find out soon enough, though."

"I'll have recovered before then," Reim assured her. He was suddenly very grateful for Sharon's company, and he turned to face her: "thank you, by the way. I appreciate you being here. And the papers."

Sharon, by now at work, nodded at him. "Xerx should be here too," she told him, "but you know how he gets."

"Still scared of sick people, after all this time," Reim said. "Although, to be fair, he's probably angry with me, too. Because of March Hare, and because we argued before I left, I think. That'd make him doubly unhappy."

"No doubt," Sharon said.

"I really am sorry for what happened. I didn't mean to hurt you or the others." Sharon made a move to set some pages, presumably read, on the side table, and Reim continued: "I didn't even want to use March Hare. I had to, though."

"I know," Sharon said. She picked up a pen, then set her things down again to massage her temples. "I'm sorry to have snapped at you."

"That's all right," Reim told her. "I'd rather you be honest with me than not, right?"

* * *

><p><strong>Ten Years Ago<strong>

Reim propped the front door open, and Xerxes ducked his way through the gap. His manner seemed more flustered than usual.

"What's the news?" he demanded, as he and his posse entered the main hall. Some senior officers stood and started towards them. Xerxes tossed his coat up over his shoulders and pulled his sleeves down over his hands. "Any luck?"

"Define luck," an agent snarked. He kicked at the floor with the heel of his boot, and the rest of Xerxes' team left for the main hall. "Lady Sharon's left some books behind on abyssal theory, and a week ago she commissioned a merchant to make her a carcere."

"Shit," was Xerxes' reply.

"We're going to send a rescue party downstairs," the officer went on. "To get Sharon back."

"Of course," said Xerxes. "And you need a child of misfortune to make the trip, no?"

The officer turned up his nose. "A child of what?" he asked. Then they started down the hall together, and Reim followed. "That's really what you call yourself?"

Xerxes shrugged. Their boots clacked against the floor.

"Well," the officer said. He coughed. "I won't argue that you're a child. And that you're a man of bad luck. But besides that Vincent fellow and his brother, you're the only one of us to have managed your way out of that hellhole. Or, to get from one place to the next without some kind of, er, consequence.''

"I had my eye ripped out," Xerxes said.

"Yes, well," the officer said. "No one's perfect. And I'm not about to drag that Vincent bloke or Gilbert along for a ride through the abyssal cortex, all right? You're our best bet, eye or no."

"Are we headed out now?" Reim asked.

The officer started. "We?" he asked. He slacked his march, and peered down at Reim. Reim felt his cheeks redden. "Afraid you're not going anywhere, lad. Whatever your name was."

"Reim," Reim told him.

The officer snapped his fingers. "Reim," he said. "Right. Sorry, lad, but you can't come."

"Why not?" Reim asked. The officers only resumed their pace, and he struggled to keep up. "Another year and I'll have my contractor's license. Sharon's like a sister to me. And I'm hardly a lad anymore."

"There's a reason why Pandora's decided to entrust a madman and three simpletons to this task," was all Xerxes said. The officer shot him a beady look. "The Abyss doesn't respond well to thinkers like yourself. You can stay here and help out at home. I'm not about to lose the both of you because someone decided to get cocky."

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Xerxes was on a mission, as Sharon had said. Reim was allowed out of bed now, although he was still suspended from his duties. His thoughts were skuzzy, like the edges of a poorly crocheted hat. The past few days were muddled to him, and he'd often ask Sharon the same questions over and over, or forget why he'd entered a room. Although he was certain that he and Xerxes had been on bad terms when he'd left, too, he couldn't remember why.

At first Reim waited on Xerxes's return like a housecat trained on a cuckoo clock, but the days dragged on. He lazed about, curled around whatever sad bit of furniture suited his fancy. When bold, Reim took to the halls. He worked to accustom himself to his disability, but progress was slow, and painful. Reim's bumps with the walls and stairs of the Rainsworth manor had by now earned him a nasty set of bruises. The doctor was sure that Reim would recover soon, but a solid week had passed since Reim had gotten his concussion. Reim tried not to linger on the thought.

Xerxes returned late on a Thursday, when the rest of the estate was asleep. His squad of agents oozed through the front doors, slunk up their coats, and headed to their rooms. One look at their faces, blurry as they were, and Reim could tell that the mission had gone slantways. Such was standard of late. Since the return of Oz Vessalius, the Pandora Organization had become less of a ducal guild and more of a recovery agency. Regardless of the circumstance, Xerxes tried to scoot past Reim on his way to his quarters. Reim, of course, sidestepped him.

"Welcome back," Reim said.

Xerxes grumbled at him, and they started down the hallway. Reim was very conscious of his eyes. He had to make sure to look alive and well: now was not the time to be upfront about his condition. Xerxes was unhelpful enough already without any added worry.

As they plodded along, Xerxes shed his coat. From what Reim could make out, he tied the thing about his waist, and brought the knot to a siff bun. He bunched up the ends of his collar, and rolled down the ends of his sleeves. Reim was reminded of a certain time, years ago, when he'd returned from some mission or another to search for Sharon. He wondered whether or not they were about to hit the bend at the end of the hall.

"Xerx," Reim said, as they made the turn. "Do you really plan to pout at me for the rest of your life?"

Xerxes considered for a moment. He clapped his staff against the carpet. "You did turn up dead on our doorstep."

"And I'm sorry for that," Reim said. "I don't remember much of what happened, but I'm sure I wouldn't have used March Hare unless I had to."

Reim thought Xerxes gave him a look, but he couldn't be sure. Between the halls and his shirt, the colors bled together too much to make out his face. "Excuses, excuses," Xerxes said, at last. "You gave lady Sharon quite a fright, you know."

"I know," Reim said. "She nearly bit my head off."

Xerxes was unmoved. "And I don't blame her."

"I—Yes. But, anyway. What did we talk about before I left?"

"Mm?"

"Before I went to Sablier," Reim pressed. "With Rufus. We argued about something."

The blob of white and purple turned to face Reim fully. Xerxes bunched his fingers up beneath his sleeve. Reim might not have been able to see his face, but the air got stuffy all at once.

"You really don't remember, do you?" he asked.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Reim snapped. He rubbed at his shoulder. "Could you answer a question right-out for once? Did we argue, or didn't we?"

Xerxes put his hands on his hips. "Tell you what: I'll give you three tries to guess."

Reim treated him to his best blind glare. "Guess what?" he asked. "The topic of the argument?"

"The argument. The chinwag."

Xerxes and Sharon's games, Reim decided, would be the real death of him. "No."

"Oh, come now," Xerxes nagged. He waggled his arms, as was his habit. The man couldn't seem to stand still. "Cut an old coot some slack. My best friend died last week."

Reim pursed his lips. "Look, Xerx. I know you're angry with me, all right? I didn't come here to be teased."

"Then what did you come here for?" Xerxes asked.

Reim wondered at that. "To talk," he decided.

"And we've done that," Xerxes pronounced. He clapped his hands together. "Now we can go on with our lives."

"Except we can't," Reim said. "I know how this goes, Xerx. We've been through this before. You'll be all upset with me for weeks, but too childish to confront me about how you feel because of course you hate to admit that you're an actual person who actually cares."

"Reim," Xerxes said. "Please. I've been on a long, long trip."

Reim frowned. "Have you," he said.

"Yes," Xerxes said. "And I plan to have a long, long nap."

"And you don't want to talk about this right now," Reim finished. "Or ever."

"I see that great minds think alike," Xerxes said. They'd reached the stairs up to Xerx's room, and Reim wasn't about to try them out without Sharon's help. He lingered behind as his friend started up the steps, a grimace on his face. "Now don't go off and kick the bucket again while I'm asleep," Xerxes warned over his shoulder. "Death's meant to be a surprise, Reim, not a habit."

"And I suppose you would know?" Reim asked, but there was no response. He assumed that Xerxes had already gone. He couldn't make out his shape anymore.

Reim turned away from the stairwell and started for his own room.

* * *

><p><strong>Ten Years Ago<strong>

Reim liked dinner parties well enough. Sure, he was the awkward sort, and he tended to mingle more with the wallpaper than he did the people, but all the same. He rather liked the hustle and bustle, from far away. He liked all the colors and the pop-hiss noise that wine corks made when they were yanked out all at once, and all the gossipy tidbits he got from the nobles. Today, though, Reim had no time to dawdle about. There was someone he had to see.

Reim was lucky. Gilbert and Vincent didn't normally go to these sorts of parties. They weren't as liked as Reim was, and the Nightrays considered them valets more than adoptees. Today, however, they were both present. Armed with a plate of crackers, Reim brought a reluctant Vincent to a side room, and laid out the situation;

"I'm sure you've heard about Lady Sharon," Reim said, and he made sure the door was closed behind them. "A team of agents were sent down to the Abyss to go and get her, but. Um."

"A week's a long time to be gone," Vincent finished. He always had that look about him, like he was about to bite your ear off. Gently. "They've been off that long, right?"

Reim nodded. "A week and two days," he confirmed.

"Did they send the Mad Hatter?" Vincent asked. The room was a dark hue around them, somewhere between blue and wet marble. "To help them through?"

"Uh," Reim said. "Yes. Yes, they did."

"Thought so," Vincent said. Always so pleasant. "And you want me to help you, 'cause of that, right? 'Cause I've got the same eye as him."

Reim looked down at his crackers.

"Yes," he ventured. The crackers looked kind of stale. "I did some research. About children of misfortune."

"Well. 'M not surprised." Vincent said. He scratched at his elbow. "You're the devout scholar type, Reim. And the Barmas have a great library."

Reim couldn't argue with that. "I suppose we do, yes."

"Yep," Vincent drawled. "Anyway, I know you and your house. You'll have some bargain to make with me, no? Some kind of reward for my help?"

"Well," Reim began. He rolled his shoulders. "To come back with Lady Sharon would earn you the trust of the Rainsworth household, no doubt." Vincent treated him to a look then, so Reim went on: "you and I both know that the Nightrays will bend over backwards to keep you out of Pandora," he added. "But they'll hardly have much sway when the Rainsworths owe you a favor."

"A good point," Vincent mused. "Though, I'd like more of an, ah, set reward. Should they fail to deliver."

"I don't have a lot to offer to you," Reim said. "But once I'm older, I'm sure I'll be one of Master Barma's chief assistants. And I'll still be on good terms with the Rainsworths, of course. And some other nobles, too."

Vincent grinned at him like a cat. "So you'll owe me a favor sometime?" he guessed.

"To you or Gilbert, yes," Reim said, aware that Vincent would take several cannonballs to the crotch for his brother. "Sound doable?"

"Doable enough, mister Reim," Vincent allowed. He offered up his hand. "I like your confidence."

Reim tried not to squirm as he took Vincent's hand.

"Good to have you on board," he said.

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Reim didn't want to get out of bed.

He was tired. He'd gotten off his usual sleep schedule, now that he couldn't wake up at four to do chores. When March Hare had proved useless, he'd retired to deskwork. Now that Reim had proved useless at deskwork, he didn't know what to do. Who was he, anymore? For so long, Reim had defined himself by the contents of his desk drawers. And now, well.

Sharon came up to check on him around lunchtime. Reim, mind, hadn't been out of his room for about twelve hours.

"Grandmother knows," she told him, where they sat together on the floor. Reim had his shoulders tucked around a mound of blankets. "And she's sent for a better doctor. He should be here tonight at the latest."

Reim snuggled back where he was leant against his bed. "Thank you," he said.

Sharon leaned against his shoulder.

"Have you talked to Xerx?" she asked him.

Reim closed his eyes. He could barely make Sharon out, regardless. "He was so fidgety, Sharon," he said. "Every other word and his hands were on the other end of the hall."

"So he was unhelpful," Sharon guessed.

"Less than that," Reim told her.

Sharon pulled back, so as to rearrange her limbs. She brought a hand up to Reim's back, and rubbed circles there with her palm.

Reim relaxed. He remembered, all at once, how tired he was.

"Thanks," he mumbled again.

Sharon hmm-ed at him. Reim felt himself lull back and forth ever so slightly under her hand. "I'll have a talk with Xerxes," she said. "Not about, you know. But so that he'll come up and say hello."

Xerxes did come up to say hello. The spring, by then, had come all at once like a storm. A knob of buds bopped up against the house every couple of minutes, as the wind picked up and down. Reim could make out a haze through the curtains.

His room was cold, and when Xerxes opened the door, he did so with a sound of disdain.

"Good lord, Reim," he said. There was a small scrape of wood as he closed the door behind him. "I don't know whether you've noticed, but several centuries ago, we humans came up with a silly old gizmo called a fireplace."

"Hmm," was Reim's response, and he sounded a lot like Sharon.

Xerxes harumphed at him. "Well," he said. "I happen to know that there are several likened contraptions on the first floor."

"Mmm."

"And yet you elect to spend your time up here, under a huddle of gross quilts."

"I'm suspended from work," Reim reminded him. He curled his toes up under his blanket pile. "And I'm hardly allowed to move around much. Don't see the point of going downstairs when I'm perfectly comfortable here."

"A mux ox wouldn't be comfortable up here," Xerxes scolded him. Reim heard the telltale clomp of shoes, but was still somewhat surprised when Xerxes grabbed him up by the arm and onto his feet. "Come on then," Xerxes announced. He led Reim from his mess of blankets, and tugged him out the door. "Downstairs. On the double."

"I can't," Reim protested, because he couldn't. He tried to tackle that stairwell at Xerxes' pace and he'd win himself more than a few bruises. "I'm too tired. I'll fall flat on my face."

"Aw," Xerxes said. "Reim's developed a sense of self-preservation." Reim found himself lynched out of his quarters, then dragged down the hall like a sack of yams. "A smidgen late, I'm afraid: he's died once already."

"Oh, please," Reim said. By now used to a slow and steady saunter, he struggled to keep up. "You don't get to brag to me about self-preservation, Xerx. Every other week you come home with a new limb sawed off."

"So mean," Xerxes whined. "Mister Reim's so rude to old men."

"For the last time, you're not old," Reim snapped. "And slow down." He hadn't had time to put on shoes, so at least his bare feet had a grip to them. They turned a corner, and yes, here were the stairs. Reim allowed himself to be led down, down, down, the thump of Xerxes' shoes sharp against the walls.

Reim had never been sure about religion. He rather liked Hinduism, though, and he knew a couple mantras, so he selected one at random and prayed.

Reim got to the om bhur bhuva, and then they were at the bottom of the stairs.

He hardly had time thank anyone, mind, before Xerxes had tugged him away towards the central corridor. The halls, pleasantly enough, were scant of company. Reim probably looked out of his mind.

"Aha," Xerxes declared, as they rounded another bend. He led them to a carpeted room. Reim knew the space by the heat. There was a yellowness to the room, so ripe that Reim could have reached out and cupped the color between his hands.

Xerxes let go of his wrist. Reim followed his footsteps to a nearby couch, where he sat down.

Reim crossed his legs, and brooded. Xerxes pulled his legs up onto the cushions and hugged them close. He could be such a child.

The fireplace was hotter than Reim remembered. He didn't mind. His feet were cold, and he undid his criss-crossed position to stretch them out.

Xerxes leaned over and clapped him on the shoulder. "See? Much better. You were paler than a block of cottage cheese. Needed some heat to your bones, eh?"

Reim did feel better, but he wasn't about to say so. "Did we argue about me?" he asked.

"What?"

"I mean, before I left," Reim pressed. "Did we argue about me. On whether or not I should go to Sablier."

"Sablier?" Xerxes asked, and Reim heard his clothes rustle. He must have sat back against the couch. "At first we did, yes. But that wasn't the bulk of the conversation, no."

"Oh," Reim said. "All right then. So we must have argued about you."

"Hardly," said Xerxes. "And you mustn't waste all your guesses at once. The game's no fun that way."

"I'll do what I like," Reim grouched, but he relented. He could wait a while before his next guess. He was plenty comfortable right now. Xerxes didn't follow up with any rude questions or comments, so Reim sank back against the sofa, and thought about doctors. Would this one be any better? He certainly hoped so. The sooner he could get back to normal, the sooner he'd be back to work.

Reim's thoughts became strained after that, and he looped an arm up over his eyes.

"Ugh," he said, like an afterthought.

Xerxes prodded him with a foot. "What?" he asked.

"Life," said Reim. "Things."

"What sorts of things?"

"Bad ones."

"Ah."

Reim grumbled to himself. His feet were warmer, so he brought them up and under his legs. He leant himself against the arm of the couch, and sagged there like a spent bean bag. "Xerx?" he asked.

Xerxes hummed at him.

"Do you remember what you told me about Shelly?" he said. "About how you still saw her."

There was a gentle crush of cushion. Xerxes arranged the pillows behind his back, and leaned back against the couch.

"Thought you'd forgotten that," Xerxes said at last. "As I recall, you were half dead. And half-mad."

"Was I?"

"Downright drunk, you were," Xerxes told him. "Loopy like a warped record."

"Yes, yes, all right," Reim said. "So you do remember, then."

"Yes."

"All right." Reim paused for a moment. "Right. So was that the reason that you stayed away from me? Because you thought I wasn't really here?"

"Oh, Reim," Xerxes pouted. He pulled a candy out of his pocket. "I was dreadfully busy with work, you know."

"But you weren't," Reim persisted. "Sharon told me you were at the estate when I was bedridden. You only took on a mission when I was stable."

"I may not have been away, but I was still occupied," Xerxes retorted. Reim had never been so conscious of Xerxes' tone. "I didn't want to be a bother to you, Reim. You ought to be grateful for that."

Reim groaned. "At least admit that you're angry with me," he pleaded. "Don't pretend that Lady Sharon was the only one I scared. I know you. You care more than you let on."

"Do I?" Xerxes asked. When Reim scowled at him, he let up somewhat; "all right, all right," he said. "I do care. And your death may have concerned me somewhat."

"Good start," Reim said. He crossed his arms.

"You really want me to go on?" Xerxes asked. "Reim, dear, I'm afraid there's not much else to say."

"Yes, well," Reim said. He hated to put this off. "Fine. We'll talk when you need to. I'll be here."

Xerxes chewed at his candy. He seemed disgruntled.

"I certainly hope so," was all he said.


	2. Chapter 2

Yo, guys! Orenji and I are trading off with chapter postings, so you can find the second chapter on her page (mind the spaces): zetsubou-panda . tumblr post/109208681043/hi-there-im-orenji-the-illustrator-for-saving

Edit: I was asked to post the chapter here as well for those who can't access Tumblr or Ao3, so tada! I also apologize for the first chapter's format; the fic refused to work with me. I couldn't figure out how to get the longer paragraph breaks back, so I substituted lines and bold font-hope that works.

* * *

><p><strong>Ten Years Ago<strong>

Reim had to commission two carceres from out of town, so his and Vincent's mission was on hold for a while. No way was Reim going to the Abyss without a backup plan. Xerxes and Vincent—children of misfortune as they were—should provide him with a way out, but Reim knew enough about the Abyss to be cautious: they could get separated or hurt, and Reim would have to barter a ride on some monster or another. Reim busied himself with more texts on Abyssal Theory and contractor tips. Fear was his prime motivator. Reim, after all, was to venture through a cesspool of trump cards and angry ducks. He was likely to emerge from the Abyss a good decade or so later, or never return at all.

Reim tried not to dwell too hard on that last thought.

At long last, the carceres arrived. Vincent found an excuse to travel to the Rainsworth estate, and he was met with no opposition. The estate at large assumed that Reim wasn't as stupid as he looked—as he and Vincent went down the stairs to the Rainsworth's basement, Reim felt bad for that.

Vincent didn't talk. He led the way down to the door—an ancient thing that smelled of dead ants—and stopped when he reached the bottom of the stairs. He turned around, and closed the distance between them as Reim stepped off the stairwell. He stared up at the door.

Vincent smiled. He patted Reim on the arm, and Reim tried not to look like he was about to pass out.  
>"Ready?"<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

"An event at Yura's?" Reim asked. "After we raided Sablier? The man must know we're out to beat his hide."

"And yet." Sharon propped another folder up on his desk. "This Robert fellow's done well, anyway. And he's contracted—oh, lord. Didn't think they even allowed you to contract this one—"

"No, wait, Sharon," Reim protested. Sharon pursed her lips at him, unhappy to be steamrolled over, and looked at him over the lip of her reports. "We can talk about Robert and the rest later. I need to know what's going on with Yura."

The chair made a woody groan, and Sharon turned to face him. "That's right—you're the Yura connoisseur. Of course."  
>"So he's offered to host Oz's coming-of-age ceremony?" Reim pushed. "Why? Did he give a reason?"<p>

Reim thought he saw Sharon shrug. "He likes Oz," she said. "Or, I suppose I shouldn't say 'like.' He obsesses over the poor boy. No doubt he's got a plan behind all this pizazz."

"No doubt," Reim agreed.  
>"Hmm. Grandmother's to hold a conference with Pandora today. There'll be more agents than guests at Yura's mansion by the time we're through."<p>

Reim massaged his nose. "You plan to have Oz go, then."

"Unfortunately."

"Oh, good," Reim grumbled. "He does know, doesn't he?"

Sharon looked at him. "About?"

"Being used as bait. I assume that's what we're after."

"Oh, yes. Lord knows the boy'd have found out on his own, anyway. He's a smart one." Sharon replaced the file on Reim's desk. "Anyway, we've gotten through enough of these for today, don't you think? We could go to the conference together, once the dukes arrive."

"'Course," Reim said. "I haven't been to a meeting since, um. The thing."

Sharon ordered up the rest of her things. "How are the exercises going, by the way?"

"All right, I suppose." Reim let his head fall back against his chair. "To be honest," he said, "I think the doctors are giving me busywork—to keep my mind off things. They're all very sure that I'll be able to see again, soon, but I don't know. Three weeks, that's a while to wait."

Sharon stopped to set her hands on top of Reim's. "I'm surprised at you, Reim," she told him. "You've taken all this rather calmly."

Reim gave her a look.

"Well," Sharon amended. "Mostly you're depressed, and tired." She held his hands up and studied them. "I can't help but worry that you're, um."

"I wouldn't hold back from you, Sharon," Reim assured her. He found her hands, and cupped his around her smaller ones. "I promise I'll say when I need you to be there, or I need to ramble on to someone."

Reim could feel Sharon's stare. He turned his head up, to meet her look as best he could.

"All right," said Sharon.

"Yes," Reim said. He let go of her hands. "All right."

* * *

><p><strong>Ten Years Ago<strong>

The door opened.

The Abyss crunched down on them like a heel on a spent cigarette. Reim bunched himself up against the onslaught, and dug his feet down against the ground. The basement floor slunk back beneath his feet, and left the two of them to wade through what felt like a sea of cherry pits. Reim forced himself to look up. Ahead, stone beaded up from the earth.

Vincent led them to solid ground.

The basement was gone now, and the Abyss went on forever. Bundles of rock and debris, half submerged, bobbed about between giant doll parts. Half-eaten toys lounged among boulders like disgruntled dinner guests.

"What do you see?" Vincent asked.

Reim forced his mouth open. "Dolls," he said at last. "And halves of houses."

"So you're the toy chest type," Vincent mused. He led them passed a knot of rocks and model teeth. "Thought so."

"Should we call out for her?" Reim asked.

Vincent took a moment to shake a spare doll hand off his pant leg.

"Sharon?"

"And the rest," Reim said. They plodded along, gloopily. "I don't want to make too much noise."

Vincent looked over his shoulder. "The worst of them already know we're here," he told Reim. "We stick out. Or, I should say, you do. You're much saner than I am."

"Good to know," Reim said. The Abyss smelled like a sick child's playroom. "How long do you think I'll last out here?"

"A good couple hours or so, I'd reckon," Vincent said. "By our time, anyway. Not the outside world's."

"And I should try to call for Sharon, or shouldn't I?"

Vincent shrugged. "You decide."

The last thing Reim wanted was for some trump card to come and squash their organs out of their noses, so Reim decided not to be too loud. Perhaps his presence was already known, but he didn't want to be a nuisance on top of that.

Reim and Vincent walked for a while. Once they'd come upon a chunk of cement wall, Reim had them stop—he'd climb up and get a look around. He was hot, so he undid the buttons of his uniform.

There were some good footholds where the cement had crumbled away, and he reached the top of his wall. "There's more cement," he reported. "And a big caterpillar thing that moves. And more, smaller things that move."

"Are these smaller things human-shaped?" Vincent asked.

"Hardly," Reim said. He turned, and tried the opposite direction. "The same," he relented. "You don't suppose you, um, sense them anywhere, do you?"

"No," said Vincent.

"Oh."

"They may be on a different plane," Vincent suggested. "We could cross paths with them as we go."

Reim picked his way back down from the wall. "All right, then," he said.

"Let's move on."

They walked for a time without disruption. As they went, the ground strained, then rounded out, churned like cream to a plumper shade of red. A prune color rumbled up between the rocks. The mud puckered, and forged a crust to cushioned Reim's steps.

Reim tensed all at once.

He looked up.

The officer from a few days ago—the one who'd accompanied Xerxes on his rescue party—stood suspended like a pinata some yards above his head. He was upside down, and completely still. Thick, yellow ropes supported his feet and arms, although Reim couldn't see where they led to or came from. The officer's eyes were open, and he stared down at

Reim as though he found him rather odd.

Reim met his look, and the two peered at each other.

"Hello?" Reim asked.

The officer smiled down at him. Otherwise, he did not move.

"Reim," Vincent said, from ahead. "Don't talk to him."

Reim couldn't look away. "Why not?" he asked.

"He's dead," said Vincent.

"But his eyes are open," Reim told him. "And he smiled at me."

A hand was on his arm. "He didn't," Vincent told him. Reim was led away, firmly. "I can promise you he didn't."

Reluctantly, Reim turned. The road ahead was a deep purple. When he looked back to the officer, his face was gone, replaced by a mess of angry maggots.

Reim stared up at the tussle of bugs and spat-out clumps of hair.

"Oh," he said.

He resorted never to look up again.

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

"You're not going," Xerxes said.

Reim slouched against his chair. "Xerx," he pleaded. "I'm sorry, but I've been ordered to. By a whole conference of dukes and duchesses, no less."

"You could have said no." Xerxes smeared his pastry about his plate.

"You're still unwell, Reim. And we already have Oz to bait out the Baskervilles."

"Oz wasn't captured and tortured, Xerx," Reim protested. "The Baskervilles know I'm alive, now. They'll want me dead, before I remember whatever they told me, or. Whoever they were."

"Sure."

"Anyway," Reim pushed on. He really hated amnesia. "We divide their efforts between myself and Oz, and we'll have a much better chance of success. Besides, Vincent's asked me to go."

"Vincent?"

"I owe him a favor," Reim said. "From a while ago."

Across the table, Xerxes coughed like he'd swallowed a small country.

"The man's so obviously a Baskerville that he reeks of alizarin," he ground out. "He's damn lucky we haven't arrested him yet."

"Well," Reim said. He crossed his arms. "Now we'll have a chance to expose him, won't we?"

Xerxes only grumbled at the table. Reim undid his crossed arms to pass him a crumpet. "Here," he said. Xerxes' fork smacked against his plate. "Don't sulk. You'll be right there next to me, won't you? To protect me and all that?"

"I can certainly try," Xerxes said. He took the crumpet. "You do tend to run off, though, don't you?"

"Not anymore," Reim said.

"Ho, hum," Xerxes psh-ed. "Since when?"

"Since I died."

Xerxes wasn't about to be consoled. "You can't let these Pandora people push you around, Reim. Yura obviously has something planned for this party."

"Yes, and you're going to be there. And so will enough Pandora agents to conquer Berlin."

Reim heard Xerxes cross his legs. He set his plate aside, and gave up on his crumpet. It was odd for him, not to eat when presented with chocolate. "You'd better swear to me," Xerxes said, "that you never stray more than a foot from my side."

"All right," Reim said. "As long as you promise not to pester me the whole time."

"I'll do no such thing."

"Yes, well," Reim said. He propped his face up with his hands, elbows against the table. "Fine."

Xerxes glared at him. "Good."

The two sat there for a while, and didn't move. Reim had gotten rather good at the whole kitchen thing, and he was proud to have used his tea bag correctly. When he'd practiced with Sharon, he'd ended up with burns on his hands.

Reim couldn't tell where Xerxes' eyes were. He was rather certain they were on him, though, because the hair was up on his arms. Reim wasn't used to these sorts of pauses between sentences. Xerxes could be thick as a cinderblock and about half as reasonable, but rarely did their talks go stagnant like this.

Awkwardly, Reim took a sip of his tea.

"The thing we argued about," he began, after a while.

Xerxes played with a sugar packet. "Yes?"

"I don't know. Could you give me a hint?"

Xerxes chuckled. "Is mister Reim really this bad at guessing games?" he asked. But he got up from his chair all the same. Reim didn't know where he went: he tried to follow Xerxes' movement with his head, then found the gesture rather useless when the man approached him from the front. Confused, Reim went taut, hands at the sides of his chair.

And then Xerxes kissed him.

Reim tensed further. Not out of discomfort, mind, but surprise. By the time he'd made to lean forward, Xerxes was gone. At a loss, Reim brought his head around. Xerxes chortled as he swaggered away, and Reim clapped down his teacup as he left the room: "Xerxes Break!" he demanded. "Don't you dare run off on me like that, you bastard! Not after you've—"

"I gave you a hint, Reim," Xerxes called back at him. He must have already started down the hall, that goon. "You should be grateful!"

Reim swore at him, hardly able to get up and pursue him. The hallway that led up to the kitchen split at the end and became three separate corridors; Reim had no way to know which one Xerxes took. Bemused, Reim swung back around to face the table, hands re-clenched at the sides of his chair. He didn't think he'd ever been more startled. Oh, sure, for years he'd wondered over Xerxes and his stupid looks and his stupid candy complex, and how his stupid skin might taste under his mouth, but, well.

Reim brought his hands up to his face. What on earth had they talked about before Reim left for Sablier?

What he needed right now was some solid down time to sort out his thoughts. But Reim, alas, was not a lucky man. From down the hall, there was a bustle of footfall against too-thick carpet. Reim readied himself for his usual facade. Face firm, Reim looked on as Oz and company entered the kitchens. For them to be up at such an hour, before the kitchen staff had taken to their business, was unusual. Reim reasoned that today was an odd day, and that he oughtn't be so surprised.

Oz was the first one to spot him. "Reim!" he greeted him. Reim shrunk back against his chair. "Good morning!"

Gilbert might have tripped—Reim couldn't tell. Alice was about his ankles, alive with all her usual vim and vigor. "Oh," Gilbert said. "'Morning! Good to see you out and about."

"It's good to be downstairs," Reim managed. "I missed the kitchens."

"And we've missed you."

"Seaweed head's making us omelets with meat," Alice announced, the moment Gilbert had finished. She planted her hands on the table. "And bacon."

"I'm not," Gilbert griped. He put his hands on his hips. "I've told you already. We don't have any bacon."

Oz sided with Gilbert on this one: "besides, Alice: you'll get enough protein from the eggs."

Alice grumbled at that.

"You ought to say hello to Reim, Alice."

"Oh, don't worry about me," Reim told them all, when Alice seemed ready to retort. All the noise made him uneasy. "You go and make your omelet, Gilbert."

"You're sure?" Gilbert asked.

Reim nodded. "I'm fine."

"Yeah, well. You look a bit—"

"Like you've swallowed a bee," Alice finished.

Reim could almost hear Gilbert glare at her. "Like you're upset," he corrected. Alice may or may not have stuck out her tongue at him. "Has something happened?"

"Not much," Reim said. "Xerxes and I have had a bit of an, um. To be honest, I'm not sure what we've had."

"What do you mean?" Oz asked. He took a seat beside Reim at the table. He was usually such a conscious person, and Reim wondered why he hadn't picked up on Reim's discomfort. "What's Break done now?"

Gone and kissed me. "It hardly matters," Reim said.

"You were having tea together, right?" Gilbert asked. "He hardly ate anything. That's odd."

"He's always on edge whenever one of us gets hurt. Xerxes eats less when he's stressed."

"'Suppose so," said Gilbert.

Reim paused. Oz reached for a crumpet. Perhaps, he thought, Oz knew more than he let on about Reim's condition. Reim could only pile his crap onto Sharon for so long—he needed a new set of ears. As to whether or not he was ready to treat Oz and his friends to one of his tirades, however, was of another concern.

At last, Reim let out a groan. "All right," he conceded. "I don't want to, um. To dump what's happened onto anyone."

"I knew something was wrong," Gilbert declared. "That cretin. Has he stolen your pens again?"

"Doesn't have to do with Xerxes," Reim said. "Well, for the most part."

"Really?"

"Really," Reim said. "I've gone blind."

Their table was situated at the edge of a counter, some yards from a stove. Reim had been so preoccupied with his own thoughts that he hadn't heard Gilbert grab a pan, and he was surprised when he heard metal clang out against the stovetop.

"What?" Gilbert asked. When Reim didn't respond right away, he went on: "for how long?"

"Since I got back from Sablier," Reim said. "You know the story?"

"You went down there on some mission for Barma," Gilbert forced out, "and you were attacked, but."

"I don't remember what the Baskervilles did to me," Reim told him. "But I got a concussion somehow. And when I woke up, well." He found his cup and the teapot, and proceeded to pour himself another bit of hot water. Oz, ahead of the game, passed him the tea bags. "The doctors say I'll be fine, but the headaches are gone and I still can't see. I don't know what I'm going to do."

Gilbert seemed uneasy. "You're rather calm about this."

Reim shooed him with a hand. "Make your eggs," he told him. "I can talk while you cook. I don't want to keep you from your breakfast."

He felt Gilbert look at him. He turned, though, and went after their stock of eggs. Alice, oddly respectful up until now, sat beside Oz with a plop.

"Have you told the clown?" she asked.

"No," Reim said. Alice scooted her chair closer, and he folded his arms on the table. "He's awful enough already with only my concussion to worry about, and I haven't had a headache for days."

"He hasn't found out on his own?" Oz pried. Reim could almost feel his grin. "Wow, Reim. You're slyer than I thought."

Flustered now, Reim set up his tea bag. "I've known Xerxes for over a decade," he said. "I know how to keep things from him."

"So what now?" Alice reached out and gnawed at a biscuit. "Are you going to get kicked out of Pandora?"

"No," Reim said. "Master Rufus and Sheryl both know, and they said they'll find a place for me, whatever happens."

"'Course they did," Gilbert said, as he pulled open a drawer. "We wouldn't know how to function without you."

"You barely function with me," Reim protested. "Besides, a blind man can hardly file paperwork."

"You can hire an assistant," Alice suggested. "To read things to you."

"Or they could hire someone to replace me."

Gilbert clanged his spoon against the counter. "No one could replace you," he persisted. Oz hummed around a biscuit. "All these years of compliments and you still won't believe me when I tell you how valuable you are."

Reim couldn't help but smile against his tea cup. "Thank you, Gilbert," he said.

"I'm serious," Gilbert chided. He sloshed some milk around. "There's a reason the Baskervilles decided to keep you alive, you know."

"So the Baskervilles blinded you, or didn't they?" Alice asked.

"I don't know. I got dragged off by a dog, and then I showed up two days later dead on Pandora's doorstep, but."

"At least the Baskervilles have some courtesy to them," Gilbert groused; "I'm surprised they decided to return your body." Their eggs fizzled against the pan. "Reim, have you had breakfast? Would you like some of this?"

"Oh, I'm fine," Reim assured him. He set down his cup. "I've eaten enough crumpets to fill me for a week."

Oz crossed his arms over the table, like Reim had. "Would you like any help with your work?" he asked. "Alice and I are pretty much on leave until Yura's party. We could do paperwork and stuff."

"That's very kind of you, Master Oz, but I'll be fine. Sharon has recruited some of the staff to help me on that front."

"And there you are," Alice announced. "Assistants, what did I tell you?"  
>Reim smiled. "They're only temporary. But I suppose you're right—I'm very lucky to work here."<p>

"And we're very lucky to have you," Gilbert said. He moved the pan to one side, and made an annoyed sound. "Oh, good lord," he complained. "Oz, could you run to the cupboard and grab the basil?"

* * *

><p><strong>Ten Years Ago<strong>

Reim looked around, and Vincent was gone.

He didn't know what had happened. One moment, Vincent was there, arms at his side as he led the way through a knot of creepy-ass toy horses. And the next, he was gone.

Reim turned this way and that. Panic grabbed him by the throat and shook him. The air around him was slow, old, and smelled rotten, dense like soup and hot against his skin. Reim worried that he'd already gone mad. Perhaps Vincent had never been there at all, he thought, or he'd entered another plane by accident. Reim much preferred the latter option.

Reim's hand found his pocket. The carcere was still there, at least.

However eager Reim might have been to become a full agent of Pandora, there was a reason Vincent was Reim's best way around the Abyss. The employment of a carcere often had consequences for folks his age. Reim didn't want to be like Xerx, stuck at the same outward age for the rest of his life-he would only use his carcere as a final resort. For now, he'd try to keep calm. He only needed to find Vincent or Xerx, and Reim would be set. Surely he could locate one of the two.

Reim's mind was wont to wander, now. He took to a careful pace. The Abyss pressed down on him, and as Reim walked, the ground sucked at his boots. He looked down. The rocks were gone, as was any kind of solid ground.

For a moment, Reim wondered whether or not the world had swallowed him. The Abyss reminded him of a sunken stomach, red and swollen.

The smell changed again.

A moment passed. Reim hugged his arms to his chest. And then Sharon sidled out of the gloom.

Reim half collapsed. He caught himself at the last moment against a stone pillar, then struggled to get back onto his feet. Sharon, who'd by now seen him, ran at Reim like a madwoman. She caught him by the shoulder, and Reim grasped her around the middle. They hugged like they hadn't seen each other for years.

"Sharon," Reim told her, against her shoulder. "Oh my god. Oh my god."

"I'm so sorry."

"You're such a stupid—" Reim began. He leaned back, to study her face. There was dirt smudged across her cheeks, her dress stained and torn. "A total moron." He scrubbed at her forehead. "A complete and utter moron, you know that? What the hell were you thinking?"

"I'm sorry," Sharon tried again.

Reim searched through his pockets for a handkerchief. He'd reprimand her later. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

Sharon took the cloth and brushed at her face. "No," she grumbled. "I'm fine."

"How long have you been stuck here?"

"Two days. You?"

There was something different about Sharon. Reim couldn't put his finger on what. When he made to dwell on the thought, a mental block pushed him down.

Reim cocked his head to one side. He remembered the officer.

"Not long," Reim answered at last, when Sharon looked at him. Sharon tried to return the handkerchief, but Reim didn't lift an arm. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" There was a glazed look to Sharon's face, like her skin was about to peel off. That force pulled at Reim's brain. He was almost persuaded to drop his suspicions altogether, but Reim balled up his fists and pushed on: "you look weird. And you haven't, um."

Sharon peered at him. "What?" she asked.

Reim pursed his lips, and felt silly.

"You haven't called me by my name yet."

Sharon put her hands on her hips. "'Course I have," she said, and the force agreed. Fingers picked through his brain. "Several times, actually."

"Right." Reim was at war with his mind. The force was sure that Sharon wasn't a threat to his person, but Reim could see the discolor to her facial features, the way her lips folded up the wrong way at the edges. He couldn't let whatever this was take over his head, Reim decided. With a mental stomp of the foot, Reim pushed the persuasion away.

"Call me by my name," Reim demanded.

The muscles of Sharon's face strained. She seemed angry. "Stop this nonsense," Sharon scolded him. "I've told you already that I have, haven't I?"

"Say my name, Sharon," Reim persisted. "Once'll do. I promise."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I will, actually. I'm sorry, Sharon, but I've got to be cautious."

Sharon stared at him for a long time. Her eyes didn't move, and her frown was deeper-set than what was humanly possible, hammock-ed between the dip of her lips.

And then her face split on a vertical plane, down from the nose, and began to peel.

"Whoopsy," said Sharon, and her eyes were the size of baseballs. Pockets of skin warped around her eyes, then bloated out like water balloons. "Looks like my Persuasion doesn't work so well on brats, huh?"

Reim stepped back. The Mad Baby erupted out of Sharon like a mile of pus, and Reim turned to run. Giant feelers snapped at the ground behind him. Reim ducked behind a wall of cement, only for the Baby to slam around the side: the rubble burst and tumbled across Reim's front.

Reim caught the blur of a swollen head, and then a leg pierced the skin of his left foot. The surprise turned to pain, white and clenched like a fist around a firework, and the Baby's leg tore through the muscle of Reim's ankle. Another leg came up to pin him by the skin of his arm, and Reim screamed. He forced his face up: he caught a glint of metal out of the corner of his eye.

Then The Baby let out a wail-Xerxes was there. The Baby's legs left Reim's body, and the creature keeled back as Xerxes did his dirty work.

Reim could hardly see what his friend was up to: he fumbled the moment he was let loose, and doubled over onto the ground. Reim felt the pain of his foot rip up the sides of his leg, and when he looked, he could barely see his skin for blood.

Movements sloppy now, Reim tugged at his coat. He had to get at his shirt and make a bandage.

Some yards from Reim's wall, there was a slick, wet noise. Reim pried his coat off, and the Baby produced one last guttural squeal.

Then there was a pop.

For a moment, Reim was too scared to look up. When he did, The Baby was gone, Xerxes sullied but very alive. His coat was the sort of color one found on the bottom of a shoe. His eye was manic, and he looked drunken.

Reim's fumbled with his shirt. He could barely see for pain.

There was a rustle, and then, moments later, a rip.

"Your coat," Reim fussed, as Xerxes kneeled to bind him up with a wad of mussed-up Pandora uniform.

Xerxes stared at Reim's foot. "Doesn't matter," he said. "The fabric's too thin for my taste, anyway." Xerxes pressed the bulk of the rags to Reim's foot, and began to wrap him up.

The pain was enough to make him pass out, but Reim held out. Xerxes might have apologized to him, which was unusual, but Reim was too gone to hear him. His whole lower half felt hot, his palms clammy.

Reim allowed himself to wonder whether or not this was truly Xerxes. He was too tired to ask.

"Good gracious," Xerxes tsked at him. There was a small crunch of fabric, and he'd tied off the bandage knot. "I'm surprised you got out of that one alive, Reim. Could've gone for your throat."

Reim made an unhappy noise. Xerxes grasped him by the shoulder.

"Come on, then," he said. "I'll try and carry you, best I can."

For a smaller man, Xerxes had the strength of a rhino. To be fair, Reim was rather gangly, and didn't have a lot of muscle to him. That, and he was still a teenager. Reim prepared himself to be slung over a shoulder, but Xerxes tucked one arm under his legs and another about his back.

Reim made a grunt of protest, but Xerxes paid him no heed. He stood slowly, and started away with Reim crunched to his chest. Reim held on as though he were about to be drop-kicked.

"You're lucky I showed up," Xerxes scolded him, as they started off. "The Baby's a rather nasty one, mm? Scary."

"I 'spose," Reim grumbled. He tucked his hands against the fabric of Xerxes' shirt, and tried not to think too much about his leg. "Looked like Sharon at first."

"Oh? Makes sense. How'd you place the ploy, then?"

Reim slunk down against his arms. "Don't want to talk," he ground out. "Leg hurts too much."

"Too bad. I won't let you black out on me, Reim."

Reim groaned.

"I know, I know," Xerxes whined. "You can rag at me as soon as we get back. Now, Reim, do tell: how did you find out that Sharon was actually a twelve-foot baby head?"

"Didn't know my name," Reim managed. "Which was strange, because, you know. The Baby."

"Oh." They'd both read up on the creature—they were standard buggers. "That's odd."

"Yeah," mumbled Reim. "She knew who Sharon was, but not my name. I mean, you'd think that'd be the easy bit."

Xerxes paused to for a moment, a curious look on his face. "There are people," he ventured at last, "who have a good enough head on their shoulders to keep The Baby's powers at bay."

Reim grinned at that. "And to think you called me too 'logical' for an Abyssal expedition. Could have been of some help to you."

"Maybe," Xerxes conceded. "We could hardly have known. And you're still a child, Reim."

"But The Baby couldn't read my thoughts or memories, yeah?"

Xerxes looked down at him. "Yes. And?"

Reim pinched up his face.

"So how did it know what Sharon looked like?" he asked.

Xerxes shrugged him closer to his chest. "That's easy," he said. "They'd already met. Sharon told me so."

Reim started. He wormed his head around to meet Xerxes' look.

"What?" he demanded. "You've already found Sharon?"

Xerxes only chortled at him. "Actually, the lady found us. Sharon returned to the Rainsworth estate a day after you'd left."

"Are you—" Reim began. His chest went heavy. "Oh my god."

"The Lady beat my company back to the estate," Break plowed on. "We were welcomed handsomely upon our return, only now we had another two rugrats to rescue, so. Ho ho to us."

"Shit," Reim moaned.

"Very. Some trouble you stirred up, Reim—you and Vincent both."

"You found him too?"

"On the outskirts of the Abyss," Xerxes confirmed. "He said you'd been separated."

Reim caught a glance at his foot. The creases of Xerxes' coat were dark and soggy, and blood dripped along the seams. Reim fought to stay present. "Yes," he agreed, once he'd remembered how his tongue worked. "Did you get him out?"

"Sharon contracted Equus," Xerxes said. "We were able to shoot him out through his own shadow."

"And we can't do that now because—?"

"My my, so many questions," Xerxes scolded. "And I said he was on the outskirts, didn't I? We're far too deep for Sharon to reach."

"Oh."

"We'll get there soon enough, as long as you don't get heavier any time soon," Xerxes reassured him. He shrugged up his shoulders. "Good lord, Reim, you need to gain some weight."

"Are we safe now?" Reim asked. "From The Baby, at least?"

"I gave the thing a decent blow, but they can regenerate, even after being blown to bits. Stupid animals don't know when to quit. Vengeance and all that."

"And Sharon was okay? She wasn't hurt?"

"No, she was all right. A few cuts and bruises, and she was far too young to have made a contract, but. We'll have to wait and see, I suppose."

"All right." Reim felt himself lull to one side, and Xerxes paused to heft him closer to his body. "Sorry."

"Focus, Reim," Xerxes demanded. He trudged onward, the ground thick against his shoes. "You aren't allowed to pass out on me yet, understand? We'll be back soon, and then you can sleep all you want."

"Promise?" Reim was groggy, and his whole body stung.

"Promise."

He brought his arm further around Reim's back, and the two struggled on towards the outer edges of the Abyss.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hallo, all! **I've uploaded the whole of chapter two on here, since some people weren't able to reach Tumblr or Ao3. Hope you like the update!

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

The next time Reim saw Xerxes, he was on the way to Yura's party.

Reim was pleased. By some spot of luck, he'd landed a seat on a nicer carriage. It was one of the new models, with walls that didn't smell like tobacco. Reim's company was quiet, and he was grateful.

Xerxes was a good hider, and a blind man like Reim a bad seeker. He'd managed to smuggle his way out of Reim's life for a good four days now, but Reim wasn't surprised when Xerxes took the seat beside him-no doubt Sheryl and Sharon had gone and twisted his arm. Also, he'd promised to keep Reim safe on this trip: Xerxes might have been an oddball, but he never went back on his word.

Reim felt his shoulders tense against his seat. Xerxes picked a candy out of his pocket. He offered some to the new recruits, who declined. Reim thought he felt a prickle at the back of his brain, but then the coachman started off the horses, and the carriage rumbled along down the lane and away from the estate.

This would be the first time since Sablier that Reim had left Pandora Headquarters, and for all the awkwardness, he was glad to have Xerxes at his side. Reim crossed his legs, and tried not to sound too rumpled when he turned to Xerxes and said, "hello to you too, then, you old sod."

Xerxes chomped down on his candy. "Have you decided on your last guess?"

Reim could feel the new recruit's looks on them. "You really want to have this discussion now? We've had five days to talk about this and only now, on the road to Yura's mansion, are you going to open up for conversation?"

"You call me a bastard every other other hour," Xerxes said, "and yet you're still surprised when I act like one."

"Perhaps I expect better from you," Reim snapped. "And anyway, you don't want to talk about this, I can tell. I bet you deliberately broached this now, when there are other people around, so that I'll have to tell you to wait until we're someplace private. And then you'll feel all righteous the next time I complain that you never talk to me about shit and you'll say 'well, I gave you a perfectly good excuse to drill me about that yesterday and you passed me up on the offer, so dur, dur, dur.'"

"Reim," Xerxes said. "Pray tell, when was the last time I used the words 'dur, dur, dur?'"

"The point remains," Reim said. He crossed his arms. "And you know what? I won't tell you no. I won't give you the satisfaction."

Xerxes rummaged through his pockets for another candy. "Oh?"

"No." Reim put on his best no-nonsense face. "We're going to talk about this. Right now."

"Lovely."

Where to begin. "Why did you kiss me?"

Xerxes shrugged at him. "Because you needed a hint."

Reim frowned. "Did we talk about how I felt, before I left?" he asked.

"Finally. For a man as smart as you, Reim, you can be rather slow on the uptake."

"And how did you respond?"

"I told you that you hadn't the right. I'm a nutcracker with a few months left to live, Reim."

Sometimes Reim wondered why he hadn't strangled him years ago. "And yet you kissed me."

"You needed a hint," Xerxes reminded him.

"Get a room," called the coachman. Across from them, one of the new agents re-crossed his legs. Reim wouldn't allow himself to be deterred. Not when he'd made more progress over these last few minutes than he had over the last couple of weeks. "Xerxes," he announced. "I'm going to ask you a question, and you'd best be honest with me or I'll rip out your aorta and stuff your throat full of tea bags."

"You paper pushers and your homicidal tendencies," Xerxes said. He slouched back against his seat. "What would you like to know?"

"Do you fancy me?" Reim asked. "Because I've loved you for years and I can damn well pretend I don't for another couple of months-your company has always been enough for me. More than enough. And I don't mind. But I swear to god, Xerx. If you fancy me and you haven't told me on the premise of some, I don't know, moral vendetta, or because you think the time we have won't be worth the trouble, then you had better as hell be upfront with me now because I consider every moment I have with you and your stupid, rotten face a privilege, and when you hide from me like this we only lose more time together, all right?"

"All right," snapped Xerxes.

"Fine," Reim said. "Then tell me, Xerxes. Do you fancy me?"

"Kiss him," goaded the coachman. Reim glared up at him. Or, at least, where he thought he was. He knew enough about these carriages to make a good guess.

"I may or may not find you talented," Xerxes began, at last.

Reim turned his head back to him. "Yes?"

Xerxes was tense as a cinderblock beside him. "And I may fancy you."

"Then would you like to start a relationship?"

"Perhaps," Xerxes relented.

"Fine," snapped Reim. "Let's do that, then."

For a long while they sat there, Reim with his arms stiff at his sides. The other agents' discomfort was tangible.

Reim wondered whether or not this was their first mission.

Reim took off his glasses, and then scrubbed at them. He knew that this story would be on the lips of every Pandora member by the time they left Yura's party. The new recruits were always the best at gossip. He didn't even bother to try and deter them.

"So," Reim began. He wasn't sure he was ready for whatever happened next-he wondered what a relationship with someone as kooky as Xerxes would look like. "That wasn't so hard, right?"

Xerxes ho-ho-ed at him, as was his wont. "When you say 'hard,'" he said, "do you know what that word means?"

Reim put his cloth away, then replaced his glasses. "What now?" he asked.

"We could have hot-blooded sex on the floor," Xerxes suggested.

Reim smacked him on the arm. "You'd only mess up my uniform."

"And scar the new recruits," Xerxes agreed. He flapped an arm of his coat. "Hello there, by the way. We've met before, no?"

* * *

><p><strong>Ten Years Ago<strong>

Reim woke up confused. He was sagged against someone's front; Reim looked down, and his foot looked bad enough to make him woozy. Oddly enough, though, the pain had lessened. That was probably because he'd gone a bit out of his head.

Reim wondered how long he'd been out. Through a haze of pain, he squinted up and around. He was still bundled between someone's arms.

"Xerx?" Reim asked.

Above him, Xerxes seemed to remember he was there. "Yes?"

"Are you real?" Reim asked. "You're not another Baby, are you? Or a hallucination?"

"No," Xerxes told him, "I'm real. Although I suppose you don't have any reason to believe that, eh?"

Reim was too tired to frown. "Eh," he agreed.

Xerxes brought him up against his chest, as Reim had started to slink down a smidge. Reim made a pained noise.

There was a moment of pause. Then Xerxes said, "do you know, a week after Shelly died, I saw her. As though she were alive."

Reim stared up at him. Xerxes wouldn't meet his look. They trudged on like a right pair of fools, Reim sagged between Xerxes' arms.

At last, Reim looked away. "Go on."

"Well," allowed Xerxes. He shrugged back his shoulders. "Of course she wasn't really there. But I could see her, and touch her. And hear her."

Reim's leg ached. "What did she say?"

"She said hello," Xerxes said, and then he smiled. "And some more, ah. Personal things."

"Oh."

Xerxes chuckled. "Funny how you only ever grow a pair once you've died," he mused. "But that's the way of these things, mm? Regardless. We talked for a good hour, miss Shelly and I. About good things and bad." He brought his arms tighter around Reim's back. "And then she was gone again."

There were spots on Reim's glasses. "She'd died?"

"Not twice, no," Xerxes told him. "She was dead when I met her. That's the odd bit. I'd obviously gone mad. Stark, off-my-rocker mad."

Reim struggled to keep his eyes open. "Did you ever see her again?" he asked.

"Oh, once or twice."

Reim turned to him again, and this time Xerxes didn't look away. "Would you tell her hello for me, then? Next time?"

Xerxes grinned at him.

"She's not real, Reim," he said.

Reim wrinkled up his nose. "Real, not real-doesn't matter. Tell her anyway."

Xerxes turned his eye back to the road ahead. "All right," he said. "I'll tell her."

Reim felt himself slip again.

He brought a hand up to Xerxes' shirt, and held on.

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Reim, he decided, missed parties. He missed the color and the vigor, and the sheer splendor of the decorations and the dresses, and the way all the commotion bounced off the polished floors. Now, not only was Reim blind, but he was also bait. Even with the use of his eyes, he would have had to stand around and worry. No gossip or wine for him. Reim didn't remember what the Baskervilles had done to him or why, but the mess they'd made of head was enough to knot up Reim's nerves.

Reim bunched along to the left. He knew that Xerxes was there, somewhere. Reim's elbow met his side, and Reim allowed himself to lean against his shoulder.

Xerxes snickered.

"Nervous?"

Reim groaned at him. "I thought I had this together," he said. "I was fine an hour ago."

Xerxes nudged him. "Look," he said. Reim pretended to look up. "There goes that Robert boy and his friend."

"Off to gossip about us, no doubt," Reim said.

Xerxes huffed. "All thanks to you," he said. "I was very ready to postpone our little chat, you know."

"A bit too ready," Reim agreed. "You were the one who ran off and hid for me for days, Xerx."

"And yet you still put up with me. Funny, that."

"Stupid, more like," Reim said. He turned his head up. "When do you suppose the Baskervilles'll make their move?"

"Once everyone's arrived, probably," Xerxes guessed. "They're mighty fond of dramatics."

"Sounds about right."

"Mm. Now, until then." There was a small rustle of fabric, and Reim felt a brush of cloth as Xerxes turned about. "How's about a dance?"

Reim felt his skin go pale.

"A dance?" he asked. "Xerxes, I'm about to be kidnapped by a bunch of barbarous death gods, and you want to do the samba?"

"Good lord, no-the samba's out of the question. A simple waltz will do."

"No."

"Come now, Reim," Xerxes pleaded, like a five year old. Reim guessed that he wanted to tease Reim more than he actually wanted to dance. "Don't be a party pooper."

"I can't."

"Why not?" Xerxes asked. "Embarrassed by public displays of hoedown?"

Reim frowned. "Hardly."

"Then what?"

Here, Reim bundled up his fists. He considered his options. By now, there were few things about him that Xerxes didn't know.

He might as well be honest about his disability.

"I can't see," Reim said. He stared straight ahead. "I can hardly dance when I can't see my own feet."

Xerxes stopped at that one.

"What?" he managed.

"I said I can't see, all right?" Reim griped. "I didn't tell you until now because I never had the gall, and I didn't want you to hide from me like you do when you're worried about me. For god's sake, you'd already hidden enough already."

He could practically hear the look on Xerxes' face. Reim struggled not to shrink down against the ground.

"We're going home," Xerxes said.

Reim turned his head away. "Xerx."

"Right now. To have even brought you here with a concussion was a stretch."

"The concussion's gone," Reim protested. He wouldn't be dragged home like a toddler. "The doctor let me out of bed two weeks ago."

"You're blind, Reim," Xerxes snapped.

God grant him patience. "Yes, Xerxes, I'm aware. But we're already here, we're well-protected, and we'd disrupt the plan by leaving early."

"Were you really not going to tell me about this?"

Reim looked at him. "'Course I was."

Xerxes wasn't convinced. "When?" he asked.

"Days ago. But I could hardly find you, could I? You're tough enough to root out, you know."

"Lord, Reim," was all Xerxes said.

"Don't act like you haven't kept secrets from me before," Reim groused. "And I was about to tell you."

"Does Sharon know?"

"Yes, because she was there when I woke up."

Reim could feel Xerxes' glare. "Reim," he said. "This had better be the last surprise I get out of you today."

Reim was about to reassure him when the guests started to scream.

* * *

><p><strong>Ten Years Ago<strong>

Reim woke up on his back. He wasn't sure how he got on the ground. Reim forced his arms up, and he propped himself up on his elbows.

Xerxes was next to him, passed out. He was curled towards Reim, as though to protect him as he slept.

The earth had gone rotten again, and mud sucked at his leg. Reim's uniform was wet, his body hot with fever. How long had they been here, like this? Reim reached over and grasped Xerxes by the shoulder. He shook him.

"Xerx," he demanded.

Some mud-crust peeled off his side, but Xerxes was limp against him. He was alive, Reim could tell. He could see his chest move.

Reim called for him again, although he was obviously out cold. No doubt he'd gone and collapsed from fatigue.

Apparently even Children of Misfortune could get lost.

Reim looked around. The Abyss, as per usual, was dark around them, bloated like the belly of a beast. Reim was too far gone to feel his leg. Shock, he thought, wasn't nearly as bad as he'd been led to believe. Although, to be fair, the fear was still poignant.

Far away, an animal keened. There was a great snap, and a meaty thunk, and Reim knew they didn't have much time.

"Right," Reim said, to no one.

He steeled himself, and pulled out his carcere.

Reim had read all the books on contracts. He reckoned that he knew more about them than Pandora veterans at this point. But contracts were made on the very edges of the Abyss, through the ducal doors. Reim didn't know of anyone who'd tried to make a contract this deep down the Abyssal tube sock, and he wasn't sure what rules applied anymore.

He decided to start with the basics.

"Mock turtle," he landed on. When no one answered, he tried again: "Mock turtle! I want to make a contract with you."

Reim waited, then. He situated his hurt leg over his healthy one, hopeful that the change of elevation would direct the blood flow away from his foot. There was another sharp snap, but when Reim looked up, there was no one there.

Reluctantly, Reim went for his second choice. "Borogrove," he called. "I want to make a contract with you."

Again, Reim's offer was declined.

Reim frowned; perhaps his summons weren't strong enough. Reim called for both The Turtle and The Borogrove again. They weren't like The Dodo, or The Gryphon. They didn't normally demand a good amount of compatibility, or even competence, from their contractors. They were supposed to be as eager to get out of the Abyss as Reim was.

And yet.

Reim decided to pick up the pace, and try for another method before the worst of his nightmares caught up with him. He delivered the latin summons. When those didn't work, he drew sigils with his own blood. When that did about as much as the Latin, Reim called out name after name, from the most low-brow to the most obscure.

Right when Reim was about to give up, he stumbled upon the name "March Hare."

And there was a small slosh, and a pop. And Reim turned around.

The March Hare was tall, chestnut-colored, and hatted. The animal sported a rather cheery disposition. Its ears reminded Reim of cushions.

By now, Reim had learned to be wary of even the pleasantest of looks, and he tensed up as the Hare stooped down at him. March Hare paused a meter from Reim, then looked down at his foot.

The Hare cooed at him. Reim bunched his hands around his carcere, and leaned back against the ground.

"My friend and I need to get out of here," Reim began. He spoke slowly, as though to a child. "Will you make a contract with me?"

The Hare only peered at him. It seemed happy to have company.

"Is that a yes?" Reim asked.

The Hare cooed at him again.

Reim tried not to look out of his mind. "Can you get both of us out of here on only one contract, Hare?"

At that, The March Hare extended a paw towards him. There was blood on the tip. Reim swallowed back a sound of protest, and opened his carcere.

"Let's hope this works."

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

The building was on fire. That, and Xerxes' grip was strong as shit. Those two things, at least, Reim knew for certain. The rest was a total toss up. One moment he'd been stationed beside a mob of Pandora officers, and the next, amidst a stampede of footfall, Xerxes had yanked him to one side and started for what Reim assumed to be an exit. There was a scream as they rounded a corner, then a thunk. Guests pushed passed him on all sides, and Reim started as he was shoved to and fro.

Xerxes clutched at his hand tight enough to snap his fingers. "Damn," he barked, and he drove them back through the crowd. A blocked exit, Reim guessed. "We'll have to find another way-come on."

Reim allowed himself to be barreled down the hall. Guests bruised his shoulders and feet stomped out his toes, but they managed to rebound from the blocked passageway. Reim smelled smoke; he ducked his head to keep the worst out of his face. "Reim," Xerxes demanded, over the commotion. "You're the expert on Yura, aren't you?"

"Suppose so," Reim managed. This throat was like a dirty chimney. "Why? What do you need?"

"The main exits are all blocked."

Reim swallowed passed the soot. "There should be another exit on the basement floor," he croaked. "With a stairwell up to a back door."

"Good." They started towards the basement. As they went, Xerxes called out to someone. Reim turned out of habit, and of course saw no one.

Reim was led away. "Was that Sharon?"

Xerxes didn't respond right away. "Yes." He ripped them to one side. "She's fine."

"Thank god."

"Don't thank anyone yet," Xerxes warned. "Sharon has Equus to get her out, but lord knows where Oz and the rest have run off to." They rounded a bend, passed a knot of guests, and Reim braced himself to be punched about. "I'm going to get you out of here, and then I'll go back and round up the rest of these bozos."

"You get yourself killed," Reim coughed, "and I'll never forgive you."

"I'll do my best. Stairs ahead, by three, two."

The men tottered downstairs at an awkward pace. Reim had gotten comfortable with the stairs at Pandora Headquarters and the like, but these were new and unkind. Xerxes ushered him on, and he did his best not to trip.

"Some plan we had," Xerxes went on, as they hit solid ground. His voice sounded chalky, strained. He dragged them down a cement hallway, where the smoke was thinner. "Didn't get to bag a single Baskerville."

"Not yet," Reim amended, and his throat stung. He looked up all at once. "Did you hear that?"

"What?"

They stopped, and Reim turned his head to one side.

There was a small snap down the hall. Xerxes cleared his throat-the smoke had gotten to him-and moved to bring Reim closer. Reim didn't protest. He furrowed his brow, and Xerxes brought his hand up from Reim's wrist.

"I'm moving in front of you," Xerxes told him. "Move and I'll smack you 'cross the face."

From down the hall, something long and thin scratched along the floor. Xerxes stepped forward, and popped his cane apart between his hands. Reim heard him assume a balanced stance.

They waited. There was a thickness to the air. Reim rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, and felt that familiar rub at the back of his brain.

"Xerx," he warned.

Reim register a crack, and then The Baby was upon them.

Xerxes shoved Reim backward, and he collided with a side wall. There was a clack of feet, and Xerxes surged forward with all his knightly grandeur; the Mad Baby smacked a leg against the floor, and the two collided.

From ahead, Reim heard someone call out. By now back on his feet, Reim brought his head around. That was Robert, he thought. His hands felt around the wall at his back, and the commotion drove him to step to one side. He couldn't help Xerxes any more than he could leave him, and the further forward Robert came, the worse was the force at the back of his head. Reim recalled a conversation he'd had with Sharon some days ago, when she'd commented on Robert's contract.

Reim swore at himself, and a fist connected with his stomach.

Reim had never been a fighter. He made a fine negotiator-and a right-out paper pusher-but he couldn't punch for beans. Mind, Reim was able to sidestep the worst of Robert's second hit: the third, though, was hidden under the rumble of The Mad Baby's antics, and Reim couldn't dodge a smack to the side.

"Robert," Reim commanded. Robert only knocked him to the floor. His back clapped against the ground, and Reim fumbled around for purchase. Robert's boot found that soft spot on his side again, and Reim pinched himself to one side, as though to curb the pain away. As he turned, his palms found solid ground, and Reim lurched up. Behind them, The Baby's leg punched a hole through the basement wall, a foot from Reim's front. A crunch, and the floor was cratered.

Reim nearly tripped across a hunk of cement. Then Robert was on him-their tussle resumed.

Through the floor, Reim felt the world shudder.

Robert drove Reim against a wall full of holes. He scrambled to escape Robert's grip. Reim's fingers met the material of Robert's uniform as Robert's own found Reim's throat, and he tried to push him away.

"For years," Robert growled down at him. Reim heaved at Robert's front. "Years I've waited to finish you off, you cocky brat."

"Robert," Reim gurgled, passed his fingers.

Robert only slammed his head back against the wall. "I'm gonna' have my way with you and your friend. And then I'm gonna' get that bastard rabbit and her blonde-buddy sidekick."

A thing for vengeance, without a doubt. Robert's fingers clenched tighter around Reim's throat, and Reim felt his grip loosen around Robert's lapel.

There was a hearty crack from above. Robert's grip loosened for a moment, and a surge of power rocked through Reim's body. Through the haze of pain, Reim felt his body tear and crumple like wet tissue paper, and Robert's skin peel away against the flesh of his neck. The Mad Baby screamed.

A seal had been broken.

The aftershock tore through the basement like a train. Through the rush, Reim felt the earth bind back together under his feet. His chest heaved, and his lungs strained, and his head cleared. His hands found Robert's chest, sewn together again by some strange, Abyssal power. When Reim punched Robert this time, he tumbled back like a spent toy.

Reim staggered forward. The rush of power subsided, but the walls groaned around them as though wounded. Reim thought he heard Xerxes call out to him, but he couldn't be sure over The Baby's squeals: Reim started towards him, unable to see the damage done to his person. Chunks of cement splintered the floor; Reim ducked back.

And then The Baby's skull collided with the far wall, and the world caved.


	4. Chapter 4

**Ten Years Ago**

Sharon was at his bedside when he woke up.

Reim's foot felt tingly. When he gathered the wits to look down, he found his leg plastered to a heavy cast. There were bandages on his arms, too, although he couldn't remember why. The blankets sagged along his chest, and smelled slightly of borage. There was a general herb-smell to the room, actually; the sort that wouldn't wash out of his clothes for days.

Once he'd remembered himself, Reim turned to Sharon.

She wasn't awake. She'd taken to his bedside with a pillow and a quilt, and had proceeded to pass out on a well-cushioned chair. The room was dark, the curtains drawn and the hour late. Her snores were small, but not un-obvious.

Reim wondered whether he ought to wake Sharon or not. He looked around the room, and spotted the shape of his glasses on the bedside table. They'd been mopped clean, he found, and when he put them on, they sat nicely atop his nose. Reim rubbed at his face. Towards the end of his Abyssal venture, Reim had forgotten what a tangible form felt like.

Able to see now, Reim took a good look around. He recognized one of the Rainsworth's spare rooms. It was on the first floor, and easily accessible to medical personnel. Reim remembered Xerxes, and sat up against his pillows. He scanned the room, but his was the only bed—he turned to Sharon again. Reim hated to wake her, but he saw no other alternative; he reached out to cup Sharon's knee, and coaxed her from sleep with a small shake.

"Sharon," he said. "Sharon, wake up."

Sharon brought an arm up around her quilt, as though to bat him away. She opened an eye to scowl at him, then seemed to wake fully. Reim watched as Sharon came forward to meet Reim's hand, and she pushed her blankets away to lean over his bed; "You're awake."

"Where's Xerxes?" Reim asked, as she moved. "Is he all right?"

"He'll be fine. He's sleeping across the hall."

"Oh, thank god."

"Are you?" Sharon asked. "I mean, are you feeling all right? Besides the leg."

Reim took a moment to register the question. He fumbled through his sheets, and found that his uniform had been replaced by sleepwear. He scanned the bedside table. "Where's my carcere?"

"With your other things, on the far table," Sharon told him.

Reim blinked. "And yours?"

"Pocket," Sharon said.

"Oh."

They sat like that for a while, Reim's leg a bundle of pain and bandages. Sharon slumped back against her chair, and brought her quilt up to her chin. Her pillow had ended up on the floor, so she used a corner of the quilt as a cushion, and bundled herself up. Once situated, she said, "I didn't mean for anyone to follow me."

Reim looked at her. "You were gone for weeks."

Sharon studied the patterns of her quilt, a look of concentration on her face. She wrinkled up her nose. "It felt like less than an hour."

"What were you thinking?"

"Mother was dead." Sharon refused to meet his eyes. "You know how the nobles are, Reim. I would've had to wait years to get Equus by their standards."

Reim turned his head away. "You did this for political power?" he asked, dumbfounded.

"Grandmother would have had me wait," Sharon protested. "And I would've been bossed about for years, Reim, by the rest of the nobles. You know they only ever take someone seriously when they have a big chain behind their name."

"Sharon."

"I've got to be able to protect myself," Sharon went on, all flustered. "And to defend the manor. What good am I otherwise?"

There was a look on Sharon's face that dared him to go on, but Reim couldn't bring himself to do so. Sharon looked like she'd given herself enough grief: now that she was turned to him, Reim could make out the redness of her eyes, and the way that she huddled against the back of her chair reminded him of a cornered cat.

Reim cleared his throat. Sharon looked away again.

"I'm sorry," she said, at the door.

Reim didn't move for a moment. Then, gently, he brought himself down against his pillows, and pulled his sheets up over his shoulders. "You meant well," he said, as he settled.

"I meant a lot of things," Sharon said. "Two agents are dead because they went out to rescue me. And you could've died, too."

"Didn't, though."

"No," Sharon agreed. "You didn't."

They lay like that, wrapped under their respective blankets. The air was cool against Reim's cheeks, and he pulled his sheets up tighter about his face. He had gotten used to the sticky heat of the Abyss.

"I made a contract," he said. "To get us out."

Sharon looked up from her huddle of blankets. The covers rustled as she moved. "Hmm?"

"With March Hare," Reim supplied. "We didn't read about that one, did we?"

"No."

"Thought so. I remembered the name, that's all."

Sharon shrugged. "Could have been worse," she said.

"That's got to be our catch phrase at this point," Reim said. He snorted. "Can't believe we're alive, to be honest."

"We got lucky."

Reim picked a bit of lint off his blankets. "Yeah," he said. He turned onto his side. "'Suppose we did."

* * *

><p><strong>Present Day<strong>

Reim dreamed, and he remembered.

There was a trip to Sablier. He was accompanied by a small gang of agents: some of Barma's more trusted staffers. They were off to try and root out Yura's schemes. He'd spent a good amount of time around The House of Fianna and the Sablier pit, and while Pandora hadn't found an excuse to dig through Yura's house yet, the area around Sablier was made accessible to Reim and his team of experts.

As a rule, though, shit went down when Reim was around. They'd entered the Sablier pit, and they'd found some kind of door. Reim didn't recall much of the skirmish, but he knew the Baskervilles were there, and that they'd been displeased. He also remembered a dog: a big, black dog, with eyes like caves and a mouth full of needles. He remembered that the others escaped. He remembered question after question, and pain. Vincent was about to plow his head against a rock, even as the other Baskervilles told him to stop.

They'd delivered his body back at Pandora Headquarters.

There was a tickle of dirt on Reim's hand, and Reim stirred.

He couldn't see where he was, of course, but as he came to, the room around him felt smaller. There was rubble on his back and across his arm. Gently, Reim flexed one hand, then the other. Dust trailed off his body. The smell of smoke was thick, and as Reim sat up, he coughed like his lungs were full of oil. The air was much cleaner closer to the floor, so he kept low, and covered his mouth with his scarf.

As he felt around through the dirt and rubble, Reim's hand found a body.

Reim started.

"Xerxes," he demanded. He brought his hands forward, and patted around the corpse. "Xerxes, don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare."

Behind him, someone chuckled.

Reim didn't dare to think. The body underneath his hands was Xerxes, he was sure. The bony arms were the same, the fingers long and thin like his. Was The Baby still alive?

A hand clasped his shoulder. "Reim," Xerxes said. Reim tensed. "I see you've found Robert."

"You're dead." Reim ducked away from Xerxes' grip when he tried to help him up. "That's you, right there."

"Oh, for goodness sake." Xerxes swiped the dust from his uniform. "You think I'm The Baby, don't you? Wouldn't I'd have killed you already?"

Reim coughed. "Don't even know anymore," he managed, passed a throat like sandpaper.

"All right, all right," Xerxes relented. "Go on, then. Move a couple paces to your left. Maybe you'll trust me once you've felt up The Baby's bastardly corpse."

Because he would rather Xerxes be alive than dead, he chose to follow the man's advice: he shlepped himself onto his feet and started to his left. The way was crowded with hunks of cement and debris, and Reim had to shoulder passed a good amount of rock, but he soon found what he wanted. Reim reached out, and his hand found the grimy texture of The Baby's face. The body was starchy under his hand.

"The skin'll come away soon," Xerxes mused, from behind him. He stepped closer. "On the both of them, I'd expect. And then they'll come away altogether."

"Why on earth," Reim began, "was Robert allowed to contract The Mad Baby? Why would anyone be allowed at all?"

"Someone got cocky, I 'spose." Xerxes prodded at the body with his reassembled cane, and part of the face caved away like rotted snake skin. "Wouldn't be the first time a new recruit thought he could handle a biggie. These Persuasive sorts, I tell you. Take over contractor's heads more often than you'd think."

As the The Baby tumbled away, Reim stood fully. He faced Xerxes as best he could through the rubble. "Xerxes?"

"What?"

"Where's your face?"

Reim could almost feel Xerxes' look. Beside them, another slab of concrete split the ground. "My face?" he asked.

"Your face," Reim snapped. He reached out. "Where's your face?"

"Here," Xerxes said. He brought Reim's hand up to his cheek. "Now what, then? Going to slap me?"

Reim didn't answer: rather, he plowed forward and kissed him.

Delivered at the table, Xerxes' kiss had been chaste; more of a tease. This one was an act of declaration. Xerxes, for a moment, didn't move. Reim pulled back, red-faced. He made to step away, only to have Xerxes snag him forward. Xerxes brought them together again, more fully, and the next kiss lasted. Xerxes brought his hands up to cup Reim's face, and the touch set them both aglow like a pair of newborn stars.

Reim brought his head back, and he felt Xerxes' hands travel down to meet his own. He'd ducked down to meet Xerxes' height, and before he could straighten, Xerxes pressed a last kiss to his forehead. The gesture was so gentle—and so unlike him—that Reim wondered, not for the first time, whether he'd gone mad.

And then there was a rumble above and a tug at his hands, and they were off again down the hall.

"You'd better be right about that second exit," Xerxes warned. Their feet made hollow noises against the floor. "Keep low, and breathe through your shirt."

Reim did as he was told. Their kiss had distracted Reim from the ache of his throat and the sting of his eyes. Reim had taken up some of their escape time with his romantic agenda. Xerxes, still agile despite the odds, brought them around cement blocks and husks, his palm cool against the skin of Reim's hand. Time and again, he prodded Reim this way and that, around wedges and bars and planks.

Another groan sounded from overhead. Reim forced himself not to look up. He ducked lower as they proceeded around a bend; Xerxes guided him to a set of stairs.

"Here," he said. Reim coughed. "Step up."

Reim let himself to be led upstairs. He wondered how Xerxes had found the stairwell so soon—Yura's basement was like a maze. He couldn't bring himself to care too much. His body was heavy, and his lungs felt like shit, and he hated how his feet dragged as he lugged his legs up after Xerxes.

One arm wrapped around Reim's back, Xerxes reached forward. He drew his hand back to grab Reim's own, and placed his palm against the wood of a door: "go on, then," he told him. "You can do the honors."

"Such a prick." But Reim went ahead regardless: Reim brought himself forward on about-to-buckle legs and pushed at the door. There was a groan of wood and metal hinges. Reim dug his heels against the cement floor, and shoved until he forgot how. And then he felt a rush of cold against his face. The door came open fully; Xerxes brought them both forward over the threshold. Reim's lungs heaved like he'd swallowed tar, and his throat was sticky and the world tilted a bit under his feet, but good lord. The April air was heavy and cold against his skin. Xerxes didn't bother to shut the door behind them.

"We're alive," Reim ground out. His chest heaved, and the clean air against his lungs felt like salvation. "Holy fuck."

"Such language."

Reim's arms were about as potent as overdone noodles, but he did his best to smack Xerxes on the shoulder. "You aren't even out of breath," Reim scolded. "You sure you're human?"

"Sure," Xerxes told him. He bundled Reim around to face him. "Now, Reim."

Reim bunched his hand up against his chest, where the pain was the worst. "Yes?"

"I love you," said Xerxes.

Reim flexed his fingers. "I love you too."

Xerxes placed his hand over Reim's. "Good," he said. "Then perhaps you'll forgive me for this."

And then he reached up and slammed Reim's head against the mansion wall.

* * *

><p>Reim wondered how many times he'd been knocked out. As he trudged his way towards consciousness, he did his best to prepare for the massive headache. There were some things one could never get used to. At least, Reim thought, he was somewhere comfortable. Maybe on a couch. The cushions felt saggy, and reminded him of the ones at the Rainsworth mansion.<p>

Reim opened his eyes, and he saw.

Of course, the world wasn't as sharp as he remembered. The couch was more a radish-colored blob than a piece of furniture, and the once-stark shades of the Rainsworth's wallpaper—chosen by Sheryl on a bad day—were muted. There was a hand on his, smaller than Xerxes'. Reim looked up and saw Sharon's face, and he nearly choked.

"Sharon."

Sharon's eyes were red-rimmed, and the skin around them was puffy. She swiped her free hand across her face, and grasped Reim's hand all the harder. "Hello, Reim," she managed, and she tried for a smile.

Reim reached up and tugged her down for a hug.

Surprised at first, Sharon resisted. She was tense as a pole, but she sagged after a moment and grasped Reim around the middle. Her clothes were rumpled but plush. Reim ducked his head down against her shoulder. "Sharon," Reim said. "Sharon, I can see. I can see you."

Sharon pulled back to study his face. Reim grinned at her, and Sharon clutched his shoulders.

"How on earth…"

Reim wasn't sure how to respond. "Don't know. I think—this sounds crazy, but I think I could have needed to hit my head again. Xerxes, he—" Reim looked up at that. "Xerxes," he repeated. Sharon's grip tightened on his shoulders. "Where's he gone now?"

Sharon only stared at him. Even with his bad eyes, Reim could make out the crushed look on her face.

"Sharon," Reim said. He peeled one of her hands from his shoulders. "Don't say he's hurt. He was right next to me when we got out. He was fine."

Sharon winced against him. "There was no one next to you, Reim," she told him. Reim looked confused, so she went on: "we found his body downstairs. He'd been buried under the rubble, next to Robert, and what was left of The Baby."

Reim felt his heart stop.

"What?" he asked.

"He's dead, Reim," Sharon choked out. Reim couldn't seem to move, and Sharon brought her head down, to tuck her body against Reim's chest. She twisted her hands against the material of Reim's shirt. "He's dead."

* * *

><p><strong>Ten Years Ago<strong>

Reim got several visitors. Barma was among the first: they mostly talked about The Hare. Reim wasn't to tell anyone about his false-death powers, so as to preserve what Reim could only call the element of surprise. He understood the precaution. Reim had to live with the consequences of his decisions—at least he'd be able to keep his position as Rufus' assistant.

Xerxes, meanwhile, recovered across the hall. He tended to stay away from sick people, so Reim was surprised when Xerxes came to visit on the second day of his bed-ridden pity party.

"I only came to make sure you were alive," Xerxes said, where he was leant against the doorframe. "With this mind of mine, I can never tell."

"Well." Reim set his book down on the covers of his bed. "Here I am."

"There you are," Xerxes affirmed. He slouched against the wall, like he wanted to convince Reim of his aloofness. "Butterscotch?"

"Please."

Xerxes rummaged through his coat pockets. He slung a candy at him with a grimace. "Only have cherry."

Reim caught the candy, then gave him a look. "Cherry butterscotch?" he asked.

"Cherry candy," Xerxes amended.

"Ah."

Xerxes stood there for a while, as though he'd forgotten where he was. Reim nibbled at his candy.

After a moment, Xerxes turned. "All right, then," he said. "Good to see you safe and sound, Reim."

He seemed about to leave, so Reim called him back. "Wait—could you, um."

Xerxes paused, then plodded around to face Reim. He stared at him like the asshole he was, and Reim struggled to finish his question.

"I'm sorry," Reim managed at last. He squared his shoulders. "I nearly got us both killed. I only meant to help."

"I know," Xerxes said.

"Well." Reim huddled back down under his blanket. "Never mind."

But Xerxes was curious now, and he resumed his slouched posture against the wall. "Oh, don't be like that," he teased. "Come now, Reim. I won't bite."

"Fine," Reim snapped. He resolved to make his next comment sound as neutral as possible: "could you maybe stay here for a bit? Until I fall asleep?"

Xerxes looked at him.

Then he giggled.

"You children." Xerxes shrugged his shoulders back, and sauntered forward to take the chair at Reim's bedside. He sat with a soft plop of cushion, then drew one leg over the other. "Hand me that book," he said. Reim peered at him, so he held out a hand. "I'll need something to keep me occupied."

Reim obliged. Xerxes took the book from him, then lounged back against his chair. There was a creak of wood, and then he was settled.

Xerxes flipped to the first page. Reim set his head against his pillow, and brought his hands under his covers. He snuggled down against the bed, and he relaxed.

"Thank you," Reim murmured, after a while.

Xerxes took his eye off the book, to look down at him from his chair. He "mm"-ed at him, then, and treated him to a look when Reim didn't close his eyes. "Go to sleep, Reim," he chided. "I'll still be here when you wake up, you know."

Reim wanted to pout at him, but he smiled. He felt very comfortable, and very safe. With one last tug of the covers, Reim closed his eyes.

The night was cool, the room a-hum from the heaters downstairs. Every minute or so, Reim heard the crisp turn of a page, or a rustle of material as Xerxes recrossed his legs.

Reim allowed himself to fall asleep.


End file.
